Heather Sinclair Knows All
by Gypsy Love
Summary: Heather Sinclair analyzes all the main characters of DeGrassi in her own bitter and honest way.
1. Chapter 1

Silent, Heather Sinclair drifted through the halls at Degrassi. Everyone knew her but not really. Behind her placid Mona Lisa smile hid a brain that raced at a 1000mph, all the neurons firing at once, such a rich inner life.

She knew everything about everyone, she could deduce the state of their life by spending one class period with them. All of them, the main kids, she knew she was on their periphery. Marginalized and ostrasized, eyes blinking slow, she no longer cared.

Jimmy Brooks was a spoiled rich kid, unappreciative of what he had and insensitive to what others didn't have. She'd heard him making fun of Spinner's old clothes and second hand gadgets.

Spinner Mason was judgemental and a bully. He tried to make people bend to his will.

Ashley Kerwin was moody and self pitying. She reveled in her negative view of herself and those around her.

Paige Micalchuk was entitled and self centered and had to be the red hot center of everything no matter what the cost to anybody.

Craig Manning was an abused child. She could see it in his sad looks when he thought no one was looking, in the way he hid in that leather jacket, security blanket, and the way he hid behind his camera lens. Abused kids were always hiding one way or another.

Sean Cameron was a powder keg, a short fuse ready to explode. He hated himself but thought he hated the world.

Liberty Van Sant kept a tight leash on her inner wild child. Behind the black glasses and good grades was a crazy confidence and no fear, a willingness to do anything.

J.T. York was brilliant but quirky, funny and sloppy, and used to never getting what he really wanted.

Rick was angry and violent and abusive because he was abused, too, like Craig. But Rick wasn't as likable or endearing or as vulnerable as Craig was. Craig could get people to care about him and want to help him. Rick alienated people, caused them to want to bully and torture and humiliate him. Maybe the difference was Craig did things that were cries for help. Craig ran away, tried to get hit by a train, went off his medication and rambled to whoever would listen, pressured manic speech. Rick didn't ask for help, Rick kept it all inside until it came out by beating his girlfriend or shooting someone at school. Rick went past the point of no return, and no one was willing to bring him back.

Ellie Nash. Ellie Nash was true to herself and everyone around her. Ellie lead people to their truth, made them confront their masks and smokescreens. Brutally honest and she didn't care if you liked her because she liked herself. She was all she needed, and if you wanted to play head games or toy with her feelings she had no use for you.

Marco DelRossi was a people pleaser. He kept secrets from himself, denied reality, pretended that things were how he wanted them to be. The reality of situations always came through to him but he fought it, denied it. Marco was okay once he incorporated a truth, but it was a painful process for him.

Emma Nelson was a crusador. She believed in her right to a voice that was heard. She believed the world could be better. She believed that others, if shown the facts, would come to care as much as she did. She was wrong about that. Many of the others were too worried, too wrapped up in their shattered lives to care about whales or rain forests or G.M. foods. Sean mourned his broken family, felt abandoned by his parents and embarrassed by his low socio economic status. He was frightened by his impulsiveness and anger. Craig has rarely been able to focus on outside causes because he's been fucked up for a long time. He was 11 when his mother died and his father became abusive. He'd been hit when she was alive but not beaten like after. That abusive home life consumed him, pretending he was fine took all his energy. Then he was with Joey but still damaged. His father died and that wasn't an understandable grief for him like his mother's death. He had loved her. He missed her. His dad? He loved him, he hated him, he feared him, he wanted to please him. How was he supposed to feel when he died? Then Manny and the abortion. He felt like a piece of himself died when Manny, when she…

Hazel Aden. Second fiddle to Paige's shining star. Hazel liked to go along with the crowd, liked having Paige think for her. But Hazel was like a spy, like an undercover cop, using subterfuge and psychology to manipulate Paige for other people and for herself.

Silent, Heather Sinclair drifted along from class to class, bell to bell, period to period, observing everything with her third eye. Unknown to everyone she knew all about them. Knew the viscera of their souls, glistening and red and exposed.


	2. Chapter 2

Heather Sinclair glided through the halls, eyes glazed and unblinking. Her head throbbing with her secret knowledge of all her classmates' juicy yet distasteful inner lives.

Walking through the dusty squares of sunlight that fell through the windows and onto the floor, she thought about them. She thought about them all.

Jay Hochard was charming and destructive, like the devil on your shoulder. He lead people astray, he let them listen to the dark impulses. He brought out the attraction in the sins.

Alex wasn't as tough as she acted. She was a lot more frightened than she would ever let on. Frightened of her rage at her drunk mother and her string of abusive boyfriends, and from the abusive boyfriends her rage leaked to all men. Frightened of her attraction to women, especially Paige. Frightened of the life she wanted but may never have.

Manny Santos was sweet and funny and innocent. She kept this innocence despite the abortion, despite dressing like a slut, despite serial dating. She had a fierce and pure love for Craig. She has been under his spell ever since she first laid eyes on him.

Toby Isaacs was uptight, socially inept, possessing pockets of genius for mathematics and computers.

Terri McGregor was beautiful despite her weight but she never felt beautiful. Sometimes she envied Ashley and Paige and Hazel because they had little bodies and boyfriends, normal boyfriends, not some psycho murderer. Was it necessary for someone to be so sick like Rick to want to be with her?

Peter was devious and duplicitous and creepy. He acted without a conscience and showed no remorse.

Darcy was conceited, a goodygoody, holier than thou preacher. She was also an attention craver, a secret slut, an exhibitionist. Darcy had sexual conflicts. She wanted to abstain, to be pure, to be holy. But she wanted to give in to her craven desires, her base animal instincts, and they clawed at her like little animals as she denied herself pleasure.

Head down, eyes up, Heather Sinclair clutched her books to her chest and walked on. Did they know of her clandestine knowledge, her window into their secret bleeding hearts? Was that why she was never invited to the ravine and Jay's van, or Joey's garage to watch Downtown Sasquatch rehearse, or Emma's basement bedroom to eat bon bons and study chemistry? Was it why she was never invited to Liberty's hot tub to soak away the tension of another rough day?

Was it why Peter never wanted to film her drunk and stripping at a party then email it to all her friends? Was it why Craig didn't want to cheat on her and lie to her and make her believe she was the special girl?

Why was she so locked out of their world? Her fingers always pressed to the windows of their lives, watching their ups and downs but never experiencing it for herself.


	3. Chapter 3

Heather Sinclair walked along outside the school, the dried leaves, twisted up bits of reds and faded oranges and greens, scraped along the sidewalk, crunched under her feet. Being on the outside looking in was such an awkward place to spend her high school years.

She held them all in her head, their names and faces and lives, open to her as she was closed to them. Spending the time looking through this one way glass, her hands pressed against it, but no one could see. They couldn't ever see, they were blind, like those Greek statues with the smooth stone eyeballs, staring with their blank and empty eyes at the sun.

Toby Isaacs had thick and curling eyelashes like a girl. Such pretty eyes for a boy and in many ways he was outside, too. If any one of them could understand her and her plight it would be him. His dark hair hanging straight into his eyes, the slightly worried look on his soft face. Maybe she could speak to him, let him know that there was a real person inside of her skull, inside her Heather Sinclair skin and designer clothes. That despite appearances of being a mannequin she was real, as real as he was, as flesh and blood and beating heart as anyone else.

Emma Nelson was skinny and tall, long limbed like a ballerina dancer. She had this colorless pale blond hair and dark eyes, that curious combination. Crossed genes. Emma knew what it was to have to fight for what you believed in and that no one else cared about, she knew how it felt to be the voice alone in the wind, lonely voice that couldn't always be distinguished from howls and screams and other night noises vibrating your ear drums. Maybe Emma would understand that she had lost her fight for the cause, if she spoke to her, maybe she would see that being alone wasn't always her choice…

Manny Santos, her hair long and black like a banshee, like a ghost girl, her skin tan and beautiful. Manny knew what it was to long, to yearn in this fitful desire for something just so out of reach. Manny understood fantastical dreams, swept up in visions of things that may never materialize. If only she could speak to Manny, enlist her help in becoming a part of the world, maybe then everyone would see.

Liberty Van Zant was smart and smart looking and her hair was in thick curls around her face, and her glasses tended to hide her dramatic eyes. Maybe Liberty was smart enough to understand her, to hear her and see her somehow for herself, not just what they thought she was. Not just who they thought she was. Maybe Liberty was that smart.

Danny Van Zant, Liberty's little brother. His hair was soft and wild curly and his eyes were big and dark and dramatic like Liberty's. He cared so much for her, Heather could see that. Why couldn't anyone care about her?

Matt Oleandor. Mr. O. He was a young and yummy college boy, his hair greasy and falling across his forehead into his eyes, his collar shirts always looking a little too formal on him. He loved Paige, jailbait Paige. No one inspired that forbidden love feeling for her, everyone was at a distance, behind glass. Every emotion was muffled, every interaction was a step removed. Her life was being lived underwater, glassy and slow and unreal. The precious years were going by and she still hadn't forged any meaningful relationships. She was still solitary little Heather Sinclair.

Spinner Mason, his hair Japanese straight and three colors, blond and red and brown, perfect streaks falling sideways over his forehead. Spinner was scheming and sneaky and fiercely loyal. Would he understand her if she let him into her glass managerie?

Jimmy Brooks was the color of coffee with milk in it, his teeth were white and straight, his voice deep and soothing somehow. She wished he could speak in that soothing voice to her, that she could be the center of his attentions. Of someone's attentions. She wanted to be the red hot center for once, instead of being like a fly at their picnic, a spectator at their parade.

Craig Manning, she could never tell if his eyes were a dark hazel or light brown. His hair could be outrageously curly, uncontrolled curls but it didn't look bad, Craig could never look bad, not even when he was crying and hitting the glass of the phone booth because Ashley broke his heart. Why couldn't she break someone's heart? Why couldn't she be the heart of someone's mental breakdown? Why was it like this, lonely and existential? She felt trapped in some awful midnight production of "Waiting for Godot", just her and the stage and the fake tree, endless grinding on.

Paige Mikalchuk, her yellow blond hair in Farrah Faucet waves down her back and she would flip it off her shoulder in the sexy cheerleader move, her eyes were an amazing light blue/green like some model or obscure little actress. Heather wanted Paige to flatten her with some dead on advice and then call her "hon". Heather wanted Paige to acknowledge her, to show her that she was here and had a right to be. That never happened. When she saw Paige in the halls at school she just walked on by, sailed past with her cheerleader posse and sweater shawl draped alluringly over her shoulders.

Hazel Aden, her eyes small and glassy bright, her skin dark and soft and smooth. Hazel had long legs and long hair and was, in many ways, prettier than Paige. Hazel had an inkling of what it was like to be on someone else's edge, to be the supporting player in someone else's movie. She could go to a trendy little café with Hazel and discuss the many many things they had in common.

J.T. York was skinny and long faced and small eyed and thin lipped but not as unattractive as his description. Now he was a ghost or a spirit or maybe nothing at all, Heather didn't profess to know the wherabouts of J.T.'s soul. If he was somewhere he undoubtedly knew the secrets now. He knew the why and the hows that she could only guess at, and she envied him that.

Ashley Kerwin, beautiful girl with the pouty lips and jewel blue eyes and voice like an angel, a singing voice that can carry you up, up and away. Heather had listened at the prom when Ashley sang "Nothing At All" and the words of that song made her sad and made her feel a funny desolate sort of hope and Ashley looked so perfect up there next to Craig and he would look at her with this sick puppy barely veiled love and her voice was just amazing. Sometimes Heather wanted to cry thinking about Ashley.

Sean Cameron, round baby face and blue eyes and thick dark eyebrows, his voice low and reasoned. He had the right words in the worst situations, the most desperate no way out situations. Like when Rick held the gun in his shaky grasp and pointed it at Emma Sean had the words. Like the time Craig laughed as the train came at him, crazy and out of his mind with the mistreatment from his dad and Sean pulled him from the edge. Maybe he could pull her from the edge, help her like he helped them. She felt just as out of control as Craig on the train tracks, as Rick with the gun concealed under his jacket. Where was a Sean Cameron to help her when she needed it?

Marco Del Rossi, his dark Italian eyes and straight jet black hair, he was gorgeous. He was short and stylish and compassionate. She could see it in the hallways and in the classes she shared with him, could see his caring ways, his gentle handling of the fragile psyches of his psycho friends.

Ellie Nash. Long red hair like autumn leaves or fire, pale skin and skinny arms and legs. She had a dead-eye sarcastic stare. Ellie cut herself to relieve the pain. It was a trick Heather thought she might try, anything to feel something past this numbness, this endless aching time of hours that dripped by like thick molasses, barely seeming to move. She'd like to slash herself and release the lovely endorphins and get a natural high. Maybe Ellie was onto something, pain was the only legal drug left.

Terri McGregor, pretty model eyes and fat thighs. Smooth sleek and shiny hair, perfect profile, photographical girl. Still not skinny enough for the popular click, brain damaged from Rick's temper. Could Terri understand Heather's plight with her damaged brain? Her sick and broken thoughts? Her alienation? What did Terri see with her squinty little diva eyes?

So that was it for now. The sky grew dark and the leaves still scraped along, making that eerie sound. Lonely sound for a lonely girl. She could hear her footfalls, too. Just hers.


	4. Chapter 4

Deep in thought, thoughts like blood scratches. School in the morning, all the classrooms on the east side filled with sun. Heather sat at her desk, chin resting on her folded arms, eyes wet and narrowed.

Today was the day. She'd speak to one of them today, one or maybe all of them. They'd hear her, finally.

Still frozen in her silence, icicles in her throat. They all filed in, took their accustomed seats. Talking in their secret short-hand, leaving her out. Walls up again.

She was in this same homeroom with them, with all of them, Paige and Hazel and Ashley and Ellie. Craig and Marco and Spinner and Jimmy. It was easy to hide, to put her headphones on and disappear in the music, in the slant of sun coming through the windows. Sad songs filling her ears and all the bright luminescent kids burn with their desires to do and to connect, with life and with each other. She burns, too. Why can't anyone see that she burns, too?

Seconds and minutes slipping away like they always do, the clock neatly chopping up the time. It slips away like it always does, leaving her with nothing.

Head down, eyes up, and she can look right at them and they don't see her. No one sees her. She's as real as they are, as real as Jimmy and the bullets in his spine, as real as Craig and the chemical imbalance in his brain. As real as Paige and the post rape trauma. As real as Ellie and the scars on her white forearms. As real as Spinner and the energy he was saddled with. As real as Marco's doubts about his sexual orientation. As real as Ashley's black moods and suicide poems.

Lies. All lies. They're real and she's not, and she knows it. A sheaf of blond hair falls across her forehead, obscuring her eyes. She can hear the blood pounding in her ears. She can feel the blood traveling from her brain to her heart and back again. She can feel the oxygen being pulled into her lungs. She can't talk to any of them.

Little details pop out at her like they always do. The shine of light on Craig's dark curls, the glint of chrome from the wheels on Jimmy's wheelchair, the deep black velvet of Ashley's dress.

Mr. Simpson makes some announcement about a dance she won't be asked to or a fundraiser she won't contribute to. Nothing here connects to her in any way.

Heather Sinclair reaches her hand slowly toward the edge of her desk, afraid to reach out beyond that point.

And if she talked to them, what would she say? Huh? Just what would she say in the face of their cold eyes and frozen stares?

She turns the volume up on her CD player, ipod, MP3 player, her handy gadget of the moment. It doesn't matter that she has the money to buy all these toys and designer clothes and hundred dollar haircuts. The money is meaningless. The only thing that means anything is her own silence.

Close enough to Craig to touch him, to see the funny muddy hazel of his eyes, to see his adam's apple move when he swallows. He might as well be a thousand miles away. She can't pierce through the membrane that surrounds them, separates them, divides them. She is screaming inside, and all they can hear is silence.

Close enough to Jimmy to hear the creak of the wheels as they roll along, to see the way his sneakers rest on the shiny metal plate, the bagginess of his jeans around his atrophying legs.

Close enough to Ellie to smell her perfume, something like lilacs and smoke, to see the metallic black nail polish chipping off her fingernails. Close enough to see the raised scars that snake over her veins, the criss cross patterns almost making her dizzy.

Close enough to Ashley to hear her heart beating.

Close enough to all of them to breakthrough, to reach through, to let her voice reach their delicate eardrums, to let her skin touch theirs.

As always, clock slicing away the time, they recede as through a tunnel, and she can not bridge the gap, can not find the strength of will to reach them or anyone beyond herself.


End file.
